Saint of Patrons
If you can Move to the mad Code
and perform "the assassin"
a new favorite dare
You can quash All resistance and sip
from oceans
We're driving on Expired licenses to kill,
headed for False
Positives
There are stiff burdens To be shouldered
and rich folk to Mock
Keep Up and flourish amid shaky paradox,
stay for the eggs or
Presume to find pleasures in Languages
What doesn't jive? The numbers don't
Always lie
I cringe at the lack of Rewind
I'm dirty as Hell
A white sheep Among bleach blondes
Unrecoverable vacancies of luck, which
explains why I'm so
Enamored of the St. life
We're busy arguing Spermicides with
our eyes on the door
Things I am thankful for: colorblindness
every selfish emotion, the Axe
This year was my Therapist's treat,
written off by Taxidermists
Smother me again in sleep, together
forever with pushers of the Blue
in the very last smoky Corners